Daughter of Tamriel
by Hitomi Zotz
Summary: The sequel to Amnesia! Set 4 year later, Amaris and Mercer Frey find their lives thrown into chaos and danger once more as a strange attack in the Imperial City hints at the return of the Nine. Worse still, Lorkhan seems determined to find a way back through his former vessel, whilst the Daedric Princes believe Amaris is the only pawn they might have against the might of the Nine
1. Chapter 1- Awakening

_I wasn't sure about doing this as sequels can be tricky and are rarely as well received as the original story, but people kept asking if I was going to one and honestly I really wanted to. So I held off for as long as I could trying to come up with a good enough idea and here (hopefully) it is. If you haven't read my fanfic Amnesia it is advisable that you do so before reading this.__As always all reviews are greatly welcomed and appreciated!  
_

_Centred around the potential return of the Nine, Amaris finds herself pulled into a deadly battle between the Aedra and Daedric Princes whilst Lorkhan seeks to find a way back to Tamriel so that he can make it anew. With the mystery of the Elder Scrolls and the prophecy on Alduin's Wall at play, and the omnious presence of the First Dragonborn it's unclear if Tamriel can be saved at all or if Amaris might simply find herself trying to piece back the ruins._

* * *

It was a beautiful summer's day, the skies were clear and a soft, milky blue as far as the eye could see. The sun was high in the centre- large, warm and white; it hurt to look at but was pleasant on the skin. The air was gentle and sweet, only the slightest breeze to offer a respite from the sun and carrying the fragrances of the market over the sour smell of the sewers and the fish odour from the Waterfront. The cobbled streets were thriving and every stall was busy, it was a welcome sight given how bleak the Imperial City had been just a few years ago. Now an Empress sat upon the throne and Alduin appeared to be vanquished forever, it had led to an uplifting, almost forgotten, happy atmosphere amongst not just the city but all of Cyrodiil. Once a beautiful and thriving country of intellect and commerce it had been brutally savaged by the Aldmeri Dominion. Two hundred years before that the country had been brought to its knees by the Oblivion Crisis, after surviving that no one had ever thought the Imperial City or the might of the royal family would suffer again, how wrong they had been.

As Amaris Frey walked the streets with her father and young son she reflected upon what once had been, four years ago she had been part of a crisis in Skyrim that had threatened to spill into all of Tamriel. She had called the man behind the Emperor Titus Mede II's assassination friend, the assassin himself was someone even closer, her son's namesake in fact, and she had been allies with the Last Dragonborn. She had even been a part of something far greater and worse than the threat of the Thalmor, she had been the key piece in a prophecy involving the return of the creator god Lorkhan who would have and could have destroyed Tamriel as they knew it.

The redhead still found it a marvel that not only had she and the rest of the world survived all that but that those fragile things known as peace and hope were still alive in the world and thriving. She gave a faint smile as she pushed back some of her long bronze hair and gazed at the indifferent people around her and the many wares of the market. She doubted too many of these people knew what the Thalmor had been involved in or how close they had come to being destroyed first by Alduin and then by Lorkhan. Oblivion, she thought ironically, really could be bliss sometimes.

"Shall we head home?"

Amaris turned at the question and smiled at her father before nodding her head. Quaranir was cradling his one-year-old grandson close to his robes as he looked to his daughter with hopeful, green eyes. The mage was attempting to be inconspicuous and failing, his lack of telltale Psijic robes, which had once been Amaris' only clue to his identity, did little to hide the fact that he was not only a mage but a powerful one at that and most definitely not local. He was an Altmer, tall even for his species with swarthy skin, coal black hair, rare for his kind, and ovular, lime green eyes that shone brightly against his skin immediately drawing attention to him. He had all the exotic beauty of his race but was so unusual people could not help but stare, even now when he tried to himself beneath drab, hooded, blue robes.

Amaris halted as Quaranir joined her side and she leaned up to ruffle her son's wispy crop of dark hair, it was a brownish-black like his father's had once been and Amaris was certain it would soon grow just as thick. "I can't wait to try your new clothes on you Kes," she addressed the baby cheerfully.

He turned his head towards his mother and let out a happy giggle ignorant to how she suddenly paled and let out a gasp of horror.

"What's wrong?" Quaranir was quick to quip as he glanced from the baby to his daughter with concern.

Amaris looked at her son's eyes in horror, one grey and one blue, just as hers had once been. She blinked hard and suddenly they were both grey again. She shook her head sharply, rubbed her eyes with her free hand and leaned close to her son causing him to grow quiet as his eyes widened in surprise. Grey, definitely grey, exactly as his mother's were now and just like his uncle's, there was no silver sheen and no hint of any shade of blue. Amaris let out a sigh of relief. "It was just the sun playing tricks," she said quietly to her father as she forced herself to smile again to put her now worried relations at ease.

"Are you sure?" Quaranir queried as he looked at her doubtfully.

Amaris nodded as she stroked her son's hair again before kissing him gently on the brow. "Yes." She gripped the round wicker basket's handle tightly with her left hand and pushed back another stray copper curl with her free hand before walking on once more. In the past four years her nightmares and worries had grown fewer and fewer but they were not completely obliterated and both she and her husband doubted they would be. 'It's just fear,' she told herself as she walked briskly onwards, 'just irrational fear because of what happened, because of the nightmares and the memories. I had so much false hope, it's hard to believe this happiness is real and that it's over, but it is.'

They ascended the stone steps and exited through the towering, guarded wooden doors to the Arena district. The Arena was still in ruins, it had been built and rebuilt so many times in the end it had barely resembled its original and glorious structure. The games themselves were no longer commonly practised and so there was little interest or haste in restoring the arena. There had been rumours and suggestions of turning it into something else but so far no one had attempted to do so.

They moved swiftly through the district as it was now better known as the Slums district. In the absence of a purpose and with space available the district had become home to the homeless, not just the original beggars of the city but those who had never recovered from the Aldmeri Dominion and seemed caught in poverty. It was well guarded and safe enough during the day as the current Empress had insisted upon it, refusing to see any part of her once beloved city fall into ill repute. The fact that the Dark Brotherhood was slowly setting up a base within the city walls and the Thieves Guild was determined to restore its reputation in the former home of the fabled Gray Fox, did not seem to bother the Empress as much as the thought of beggars openly disgracing the city. At least the assassins and thieves had the sense to stick to the shadows.

Next they entered the Arboretum, once said to be a grand sight to behold it had served as the city's park, a break from the busy crowds and a chance to take in some beauty and pay some homage to the Nine. Disgusted that a statue of Talos should stand with the other Aedra, the Thalmor had desecrated all the statues in disgust and burned most of the Arboretum. Thanks to mages, herbalists, botanists and architects, the Arboretum was once again becoming a place of beauty and peace. The centre piece of a circle of white, marble columns was back, elevated on three stone steps with an elegant scroll design at the top of the columns on which a large ring of marble rested, with flowery and serpentine designs carved into it. The middle of this would be shrine was eerily absent, once a statue of Talos had stood there, now there were only stone tiles as people had feared erecting another statue only for it to be torn down or replacing it with a statue of something else and earning the god's eternal wrath.

The other statues had started to be replaced, and Amaris found herself drawn to the one of Arkay. She had thought little of the Nine, if they existed at all to her they were deaf, ignorant, cruel or all three at once. None of them had responded to her pleas and prayers for freedom, mercy and, at one point, even death. Instead it had been the dark Daedric Princes who had come to her aid, for a price of course, but still they had come. In her bleak moments she would have paid any price to the Aedra for help but they had not cared.

She looked up at the statue impassively; it stood close to the exit to the Temple District, in its original spot, high on a pedestal of white marble with a plate of bronze at its front and the god's name carved into it. She loathed how he seemed to be looking down on her, how all the statues here did, how could they deem themselves better when they did nothing for anyone? Here was the god of birth and death who had allowed her birth to be cursed and refused her the mercy of death when she had begged for it. He had allowed so many others she had known to suffer needlessly in their final moments as well. Sure, she was grateful for her life now and they were at peace, but she did not think that was anything to do with the Aedra.

The redhead continued leading the way on into the Temple district where the infamous Temple of the One stood. Once the holy place where the emperors had lit the dragonfires, two hundred years ago it had become the battle ground between Aedra and Daedra as the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon had come to do battle with the Avatar of Akatosh, the last of the Septim bloodline- Martin Septim who had turned into a huge, golden dragon. The price to pay for being the avatar of Akatosh however was to be turned into stone after and even now, two hundred years on, the dragon statue still stood in the middle of the temple, rearing up out of its missing top.

It was a site of pilgrimage for some and mockery for others. Amaris herself viewed the dragon in awe, it was an impressive being after all and huge to behold, but the thought of what it represented made her fill with scorn. How cruel to be rewarded for such bravery and sacrifice by having one's life cut short, Martin had ended his days as an unfulfilled hero, he had saved the city but not had the chance to rule or enjoy it. Amaris looked up at the mighty dragon and pondered as so many others did if the statue really was the Avatar of Akatosh turned from flesh to stone. It looked real enough but it was not the first lifelike statue she had seen, and there was talk of Ayleid statues that could come to life, perhaps it was Ayleid in origin rather than divine.

As was always the case on such a lovely day, the Temple district was thriving with worshippers, travellers, pilgrims, and the usual passersby. Priests and priestesses bowed their heads low to the ground before the temple before offering up worship whilst pilgrims offered wreaths of flowers and coin to the many already gathered at the door.

Amaris made to continue on her way when there was a terrible sound. CRACK! It was loud and sudden, like the ground splitting with a quake, though the cobbled stones remained sturdy underfoot. Quaranir craned his head towards the statue sharply, his green eyes wide with disbelief. The cracks became louder and more frequent and the young Kester started to cry against his grandfather as the sounds of panic and disbelief soon followed.

Amaris found herself transfixed, horrified and yet unable to look away. The statue, which had stood for two hundred years, was breaking! Her grey eyes widened as large slabs of stone began to split and crash to the ground, smashing into smaller but still deadly pieces against the temple, scattering the worshippers in sharp chips and dust. More and more fell faster creating a large cloud of dust that concealed the statue from view. Suddenly there was a strange gust of wind and the sound of something flapping loudly in it, and as the dust began to clear swiftly with this sound there was a roar.

Amaris was immediately chilled to the core at that sound. She had heard it just once before in her lifetime but knew it instantly, it was not a sound one could ever forget. It was the call of a dragon.

"Run!" Quaranir cried as he began to sprint with Kester clutched tightly in his arms.

The Temple of the One seemed to explode as some internal force pushed it outwards. Stone, marble, and glass all flew through the air, crashing mercilessly onto several unfortunates who were simply not fast enough on their feet. Amaris turned to avoid a throng of people, and narrowly missed being struck down by a large chunk of the temple. The force was enough to send her rolling to the ground with a cry as she was instantly bruised and her basket split and unleashed its contents.

Knowing there was no time to lose, the redhead forced herself back to her feet, looking anxiously for her father and son as she was elbowed and shoved by several panicking Imperials. There was a loud thud and the redhead found herself on the ground again as it shook beneath her with the force of something very large landing on it. She coughed as she rolled over and tried to right herself once more, all too aware of the eyes burning into her. She knew she should not look but she had to, if it was real and so close then she had to see, one glimpse of her would be death before it happened.

The redhead turned as the beast reared up on two legs and flapped its huge wings noisily. It glittered gold, its scales almost blinding in the sun as the light was reflected off them. Reptilian in appearance, its amber eyes glimmered with intelligence as it surveyed the destruction around it. It had two long, curved horns growing out of orange plates, small spikes along its muzzle and a hooked snout, it was fearsome to behold and the biggest creature Amaris had ever laid eyes on. When it opened its eyes she clenched her hands and teeth together as she prepared for the end. She recalled experiencing the dragon fire before and the deafening power of their Shout, none of them could hope to survive it in such close range.

The words came out, foreign, ancient and too loud to take in. It was a roar, a speech and an attack all at once. Amaris moved to avoid it despite knowing how futile it was, breaking into a run across the district, searching wildly for her family as she moved to avoid debris and people. Everything suddenly seemed horribly bright, bathed in white and blurry as she ran.

"Amaris!"

There they were, just ahead! She stretched out a hand anxiously to her father's reaching one, her fearful eyes on her puzzled looking son who leaned into his grandfather anxiously. They seemed to change then, it was fast, one moment they were living, breathing and looking to her and the next... The redhead stumbled as a suffocating silence seemed to fill the district, what in Oblivion had happened? She looked to Quaranir and Kester aghast, this couldn't be real, it couldn't! The pair had changed from beings of flesh, blood and bone, to grotesque and yet beautiful statues of a luminescent crystal Amaris had never seen before. Iridescent spikes glittered out of them like deadly icicles, and they stood firm, absorbing in the sunlight and reflecting it back in golds, silvers and bronzes, it was as if they were of diamond and frost and something else stranger.

Amaris looked around the arena nervously as she started to tremble. Everyone else was the same- Bretons, Khajiit, Imperials, Nords, Argonian, Altmer, Dunmer, Bosmer, Redguard and Orc, no race, gender or age had been spared, nor had a few animals caught out in the place- dogs, cats, birds and mice glittered amongst the ruination, lovely and disturbing to behold. As for the dragon, it was gone, a telltale, large pile of rubble suggesting its fate.

Amaris sank to her knees as she turned back to her father and son in horror and wondered at what had happened.


	2. Chapter 2- Once a Thief

The smell of sewage and rotting fish combined with an eternal darkness held back by flickering torches was not something Mercer Frey had thought he would miss, yet here he was and despite the unpleasant circumstances there was a part of him that could not help but feel glad to have returned. Of course the hateful glowers and sharp weapons made him less glad to have come back.

"Why in Oblivion did you come back here? How are you even alive?" Vex hissed out hatefully. It was she who had first spotted the thief slinking into the Thieves Guild headquarters, he had made no effort to hide himself or to flee or fight when she had cried out his name and charged at him. She had hesitated, an inch from carving out his guts with her daggers and she had hesitated. It disgusted her but she could not fight her feelings, feelings she had tried for so long to crush. She tried to tell herself that shock had made her hesitate, for a moment she had wondered if he was a ghost after all before realising the truth.

Niruin, Delvin and Brynjolf had come at her yells, all of them armed and ready for a fight. Niruin, once he had stopped pointing and cursing inanely, had suggested putting the former guild master in chains in a cell but Delvin had scoffed that no lock could hold the greying Breton. Mercer had smirked back whilst thinking quietly that Delvin was right, no lock could hold him. Even without the Skeleton Key, an artefact of the Daedric Prince Nocturnal that could unlock anything Mercer Frey was still a top thief, if not the top thief.

Brynjolf studied the older Breton in shock, it was like looking at a ghost and yet he knew that somehow this was no ghost, it was Mercer Frey very much alive and returned. "How?" he queried softly. "I watched you die."

Mercer gave the redhead a cool stare. "Yes, your leader of twenty-five years, you watched a boy you barely knew cut me down and did nothing," he retorted bitingly. "Fortunate then for me that he healed the wound he gave me."

"What?" Vex snapped in disgust.

"Mercer you chose to fight," the redhead reminded him calmly, "I wanted you to come back peacefully and give us your side of the story." He relaxed his stance just a little; despite Mercer's acidic words he very much doubted his former leader wanted vengeance.

"Karliah would have never let me leave alive," Mercer snarled back as he eyed the tip of Niruin's arrow wearily.

"And you think we'll let you live now?" Vex demanded angrily. "Think we've softened because we thought you dead for four years!" The Imperial hated the Breton more than ever, it was not enough that he had betrayed them but he had let everyone think him dead too without a thought for anyone's feelings. She had grieved and mourned for him and now...

"Why did Titus spare you?" Delvin queried curiously. Titus Bellamy had been relatively new to the guild when he had gone on a hunt for Mercer with Karliah, Brynjolf and Cynric, supposedly in revenge for Mercer attempting to kill him. Titus' actions had turned most of the guild quietly against him as they felt he had interfered in affairs that did not concern him and robbed them of knowing of the truth by murdering a man he hardly knew. Delvin had been one of those who had turned on Titus, showing him open hostility, believing that Mercer had certainly not deserved death. Now the balding Breton wondered if perhaps he owed Titus an apology.

"Because I spared him," Mercer answered flatly as he folded his arms and eyed their weapons impatiently.

"Cynric mentioned that," Brynjolf murmured as his eyes widened slightly, "all those years ago, when you and Titus went looking for Karliah she shot him with an arrow dipped in a paralysis potion and you stabbed him. He thought you had meant to leave him for dead but Cynric was convinced if you had wanted to kill him you would have."

Mercer nodded grimly. "Aye, I just wanted Karliah to think I meant to kill him so she wouldn't."

"So why are you here now?" Vex demanded as she continued to glare at him furiously with her daggers bared threateningly. She stood closest to him, telling herself that she could do it if he forced her, that she could cut him down. "Why after four years? And where have you been?"

"With Amaris I'll venture," Brynjolf mused. He, unlike Vex, had taken note of the plain gold ring on Mercer's wedding finger. "In the Imperial City."

Vex bristled at the name, she had never understood why Mercer had any interest in the scrawny excuse of a woman. When she saw Mercer nodding fresh rage and hurt filled her. 'Why her? What does she have? Four years, has he really been with her for so long? Yet he wouldn't spend any time with me, why?' Another realisation raced through the woman and she narrowed her amber eyes. "Does that asshole Cynric know then? Has he always known the traitorous prick?! He visits her all the time, so has he been visiting you too?"

Mercer looked at the Imperial and nodded calmly. "That asshole Cynric is why I have risked everything to come here," he confessed dryly. He noticed how Brynjolf paled and Delvin glanced at the stone ground awkwardly for a couple of seconds. "He was meant to come for my son's birthday," Mercer confessed.

"WHAT?!" Vex interrupted with a yell. "Your son? You have a son? You don't deserve that!" She thought hatefully to herself, 'she doesn't deserve that! That little bitch, how could she have his son?'

Mercer ignored the pale haired woman's outburst and continued on coolly. "Amaris got worried, thinks he would have never missed it without good cause, I disagreed of course but it's been three months since then and we have had no word. Now I wouldn't be one to care what trouble Cynric's gotten himself into this time, undoubtedly it's deserved, but Amaris is inclined to disagree."

"She let you come here?" Brynjolf queried doubtfully as he lowered his sword at last.

Mercer shook his head and snapped, "of course not, if she knew I was here she would do nothing but fret, silly woman."

"You risked death for Cynric Endell?" Vex queried coldly, the surprise clear on her face.

"Hardly death," Mercer sneered as he relaxed his stance slightly, "all of you I could best and I knew you wouldn't kill me."

"Same old Mercer," Brynjolf scorned with a slight shake of his head and a hint of a smile at his lips.

"Never say never," Niruin growled out, loathing the man's arrogance even though it was a trait he shared.

"So what about Cynric?" Mercer demanded. "I've scouted about town and his usual haunts but I've learned nothing."

"Why should we tell you anything?" Vex snapped predictably.

Brynjolf sighed. "Did you really come all this way and risk our anger for him?" he queried.

Mercer frowned at him before sneering, "yes, as hard to believe as it is, I did."

"He's in Cidhna Mine," Brynjolf answered bluntly, "at least that's what we assume, he went there just over three months ago on an errand for the guild and never returned."

Mercer's face seemed to cloud over with rage as his grey eyes glimmered with hate. "Who ordered him to go there?" he queried quietly.

"The guild master," came a loud, smug answer.

Niruin and Delvin stepped aside instinctively to allow the newcomer to stride through, quashing down the urge to jump as, as usual, she had managed to surprise them with her stealth. Mercer tensed slightly at the sight, she was unchanged save for her clothes, still youthful, beautiful and deadly, armed to the teeth with a bow drawn and aimed in his direction. Her amethyst eyes were fierce, filled with a passionate anger for him that he doubted would ever burn out, and she walked with such confidence and power, there was no mistaking her position down here.

"Karliah," Mercer spat out her name, loathing how some very small part of him still enjoyed the sound of it. Even now after everything they had been through and all the time that had passed she could still affect him, still make him fill with guilt, regret, self-loathing, hate, anger and, worst of all, a twisted, corrupted love he had tried so very hard to banish. He could never and had never been so passionate about Amaris, much as he loved her, though he was reluctant to admit it, she didn't fill him with the same intensity that Karliah did, Karliah had been his first love after all.

"Mercer," she answered back with equal displeasure. She was clad in black leathers and armour, the colour of the higher ranking members of the guild, the outfit clung tight to her enviable lithe figure, flattering every inch of her and turning Mercer's throat dry. "Why are you here and why are you still alive?" she demanded frostily as she spared a glare at the others. "Have you all suddenly forgotten how he robbed and betrayed you?" she questioned sharply.

"No," Brynjolf dared to answer her, "but nor have we forgotten how he led and guided us, showed us friendship and leadership through tough times."

If Mercer appreciated the redhead's sentiments he certainly did not show it as he continued to glower at the Dunmer. "So who made you leader in my absence?" he queried icily.

"There was only me," Karliah answered as if it were obvious, "I am the most senior member, Titus was too new for some members and Brynjolf did not want the role." She looked to the redheaded Nord then almost accusingly, daring him to reject her claim.

"It's true," the Nord confessed wearily. "Karliah is experienced and talented and Gallus trusted her." What he left unsaid was that Karliah was also a Nightingale and many of the older members of the Guild had felt guilt to her for thinking ill of her and believing Mercer's lies about her, they had let become their new leader as if it was a debt they owed her. 'Perhaps it was,' Brynjolf mused, 'or it was the natural cycle of the Nightingales, first Gallus, then Mercer, and now Karliah. Maybe Nocturnal always planned for it to be this way. So am I next then?'

Mercer gave a tight smile, all too aware of the irony of Brynjolf's words, Gallus had trusted him too after all and it was his close ties to Gallus that had allowed him to become his successor. "Well good for you," he sneered. "Excellent show of leadership making Cynric go into the worst prison in all of Skyrim."

"Making him?" Karliah retorted angrily as her amethyst eyes flashed with rage.

"I know you did," Mercer answered sharply, "he would never have gone there willingly no matter the reward."

"It is none of your business," Karliah replied heatedly, "I am the guild master here, as such my guild members should show me their obedience and loyalty, and, unlike you, in return I will show them my loyalty and protection. I would never make any member of this guild take on a job that could lead to their death."

"Just their imprisonment and suffering then?" Mercer sneered back.

"He was a master of breaking out of cells," Karliah reminded him, "it is his special skill."

"Clearly," Mercer was swift to reply, the sarcasm heavy in his tone, "that's why three months on he's still not back."

"It's not your concern," Karliah snapped, the string on her bow tightening as her hand clenched the arrow.

"Perhaps we should talk over this in a more civilised manner," Brynjolf suggested as he looked at the pair warily. The hate was still as strong as ever but the redhead knew it would not be as fiery if it were not for other feelings too.

"Mercer Frey does not do civilised," Karliah answered back angrily.

"Either shoot me or lower the bow," Mercer responded moodily as he folded his arms. "I only came here to find out about Cynric, nothing else. You want to keep running the guild, fine; I will be on my way."

"Just like that," Karliah stated calmly. She knew she should have been raging but his blasé attitude was just so typical of him, he really did think he could just leave them like nothing had happened, like he had done no wrong.

"Fire the bow and find out," Mercer retorted with a warning gleam in his grey eyes.

He had aged unlike her and was showing the signs of it and yet the Dunmer knew there was every chance he could best her. Sure he no longer had the Skeleton Key but he undoubtedly still possessed all the gifts and talents he had unlocked with it in addition to his own personal attributes. The only being she knew who had a chance of besting him was Gallus and in the end Mercer had won that fight.

"You need to answer for what you have done," she stated.

"I did," Mercer answered gruffly as he held back a sigh, "whether you think it or not."

"How?" Karliah demanded as she took a step towards him, her arrow still carefully notched and aimed. "You carried on with your life, moved on to someone new."

"Twenty-five years later!" Mercer reminded her irritably. "Until then I was alone Karliah, just like you, and you started this mess, you and him, you betrayed me first! What I did...it was vengeance."

"It was too much Mercer, what we did...it didn't justify killing him!" she cried out as she felt tears threatening to build in her eyes.

"I...He wouldn't let me have anything," Mercer growled, "he took and took and left me with nothing, I couldn't have you, I couldn't have the guild's treasures. He should have left me alone, he had you, it should have been enough but he couldn't turn a blind eye, he had to keep everything from me. He wrought his own fate, as did you! Now it's over and done with, I'm out of the guild, you are back in, do you want to continue the dance?"

For a moment there was silence, Niruin, Delvin and Brynjolf looked from Karliah to Mercer with unease, all three ready for a bloody fight. Brynjolf kept his sword down though he feared having to bloody it whilst Niruin and Delvin kept their weapons pointed in Mercer's direction though Delvin had his dark stare on Karliah as he wondered if he could really attack Mercer. Vex kept her furious stare on Mercer, she had barely glanced Karliah's way since her arrival; she hated the Dunmer almost as much as she loathed Amaris.

At last Karliah put her arrow back in her quiver and lowered her bow. "No Mercer I don't," she answered tiredly, "twenty-nine years now, it's far too long for the same fight. If you want to find Cynric go ahead but you are no longer welcome here and you never will be welcome here."

Brynjolf swallowed down a protest and was intrigued to see the faintest hint of hurt in Mercer's grey stare before he banished it and shrugged as he unfolded his arms. "Fine," the Breton snarled, "hard for anyone to miss a place of piss and waste anyway." He turned from them on one heel and marched off towards the exit.

Niruin wondered if he could get one shot in with the man's back turned but decided against it as he finally lowered his arrow and bow. He had to wonder though if Mercer would really be faster than an arrow. 'Only if it was unexpected,' the Bosmer thought dryly, 'and I'm sure he hasn't let his guard down as much as it appears.'

"Mercer wait," Brynjolf called as he made to follow.

"What is it Brynjolf?" Mercer barked back as he slowed his pace.

"Cynric is still a part of this guild," Brynjolf reminded him, "so let me help."

Mercer paused to give the redhead a dirty glance over his shoulder that he then turned on Karliah. "You should have tried to help him three months ago," he accused.

Karliah did not even flinch at the accusation. "The guild is busy," she remarked frostily, "we cannot drop everything for every member that gets into difficulty on a job, especially not the senior members who should know better."

"Please Mercer," Brynjolf pleaded, "let me help."

"Come if you want, it's a free country, last I checked the Aldmeri Dominion hasn't quite got its claws in yet," Mercer retorted without concern before he turned away and started walking again.

"Me too," Vex blurted out before she could help herself.

Mercer clenched his hands slightly as he wondered briefly just whom Vex wanted to help, him or Cynric?

"I mean someone should have Brynjolf's back in case you decide to turn dirty again," the pale haired woman snapped out fiercely as she felt all eyes upon her curiously. It was no secret amongst the guild that her and Cynric's relationship had soured over the past few months as she had chosen to take up with Sibbi Black-Briar of all people.

"Is no one going to ask my permission?" Karliah queried testily. "This is official guild business after all, is it not?"

Vex turned a glower on her superior that the Dunmer chose to ignore as a cold smile appeared on her beautiful features. "Maybe I should go since I sent Cynric on his errand and if he did encounter difficulty perhaps I will bear some responsibility."

"Perhaps," Mercer grumbled through gritted teeth. "I thought as a senior member Cynric was responsible for his own errors."

"If the error was his," Karliah answered calmly as she strode up to the Breton, her footsteps as soft as a whisper. "I could also argue, as Vex has, that you need watched lest you try to harm the guild some more and given your experience and skills, it would be hard for anyone to spot your treachery until it was too late, or indeed match you."

"You are not coming," Mercer answered bluntly, "you have a guild to run."

"It wasn't an offer," the Dunmer responded softly, the threat clear in her voice.

Mercer turned round to face her at last, his hate burning in his stare. "None of you are coming then," he spat out, "I would rather go alone."

"That is no longer an option," the Dunmer decided, "not with another guild member involved, for all I know you have some vengeance to act on Endell, or you want to pull him further into some plot. The fact that he has secretly been visiting you for four years does neither of you any credit. In this matter, watching you closely until Endell has been found and brought back to the guild is the best thing to do."

"Suddenly so keen in Cynric's fate," Mercer jeered, "when you have had three months to do something about it. It's nice how you think yourself better than me Karliah when you're so willing to use and exploit your own guild members to get at me."

She contemplated slapping him and felt her palm tingle to do it but knew he would dodge the blow before it came close, humiliating her and showing him how easily she could lose his temper. So she resisted rather than letting him have the upper hand. 'Nocturnal why do you let him live?' she wondered in despair. 'He stole from you and ruined your guild, I don't understand it.' She had asked the Daedric Prince in person once why Mercer should be allowed to live whilst Gallus was gone to her but the prince of darkness, luck and night, had only smiled and informed Karliah to never question her judgement again if she valued her own existence.

Mercer let out a curse before turning from all of them and storming off. They followed after him with ease, Brynjolf leading the way, knowing that he would not permit them time to gather supplies. What they needed they could pilfer anyway on their journey to Markarth.

They headed above ground to a golden afternoon and a city rife with business. Mercer had been unsurprised and unimpressed to find Maven jarl of Riften in the wake of the war, it was a role she slipped into easily, given she had masqueraded as the jarl for years the title was really only a formality. He led the way into the thick of the town to seek out his own supplies, Markath was as far west in Skyrim as Riften was east, it would be no easy journey. He paused at The Bee and Barb, earlier he had noticed a bronze plaque on the inn's wall, engraved on it was '_In memory of Marcurio, a hero of Skyrim and one of its greatest mages_', the thief had pondered over it wondering who in Riften could have commissioned it. Marcurio had made the city his home for a while but only in the inn, as far as Mercer could tell he originated for elsewhere and had no family to speak of. The only one in Riften who could've commissioned it was Cynric.

Mercer turned back to the others and quipped, "who had that plaque put up?" It was the thieves' interest to know everything that went on the city so he knew they had to know.

"Endell," Vex grumbled with a roll of her eyes, "stupid sentimental thing Keerava wasn't happy about it but he paid enough for it. I mean did he even really know that dumb mage?"

"He wasn't dumb," Mercer answered quietly, "reckless and a pain in the ass but not dumb, and he gave his life for Amaris."

"Hardly a hero of Skyrim then," Vex sneered as she thought viciously, 'worse than dumb.'

"It was in a fight against the Thalmor when they attacked Winterhold College; I think the mages would argue differently about his sacrifice."

He led the way on to the market stalls where they separated, bartering and stealing weapons, armour and food before Mercer started leading the way to the city's exit. "Last chance not to come," he remarked coldly without looking back at any of them.

"We're coming," Vex growled out.


	3. Chapter 3- Journey North

Amaris was numb, at some point snow had descended upon the city, unnatural and heavy it had come quick and without warning in the wake of the dragon. She was crouched in it, it concealed up to her knees like a blanket but she seemed immune to the chill. For hours now she had been here in the same position, one hand stretched up to her frozen infant son, her eyes now dry and sore from shedding so many tears, her voice hoarse from calling upon someone, anyone to listen and help. The rest of the area was almost deserted, people had come and gone to wail and gawk at the statues, fleeing out of unease or despair, relatives had been guided off by other relatives, all of them confused and lost looking, and now only a few lone wives and suddenly abandoned children remained looking at their relations in horror.

When the howls came a fresh thrill of terror filled them, with the cold had come wolves. They came charging in without warning, snarling as they sprinted through the snow in a spread out pack with ease. One child found himself pounced upon and half-devoured before he could even stand. A Khajiit woman tried to stand and flee but her knees were stiff from her crouching for so long and her body was ice cold and unwilling to move. Two wolves leaped for her, one seizing a leg, the other an arm. They were huge, grey and shaggy beasts, bigger than the usual wolves of the forests though not so fearsome as werewolves; they bore only hate in their eyes and seemed to attack out of malice rather than hunger.

Amaris stood and turned when one came for her, she did not think to protect herself however as she tugged out the short sword she always wore, she thought only of guarding her son and father. She swung the sword with a surprising speed, striking the wolf hard upon its skull and sending it to the ground with a yelp. This caught the attention of the others; two lowered their ears and came for her with loud growls. She readied herself for them, ignorant to how her teeth chattered and her entire body burned with the chill. They sprang from either side forcing her to throw herself forward, she turned as she did lashing out with the sword and catching one in its flank. They moved in a blur, Amaris swung her sword hard and fast as Mercer had taught her to, one wolf's jaws narrowly missed her left hand as she darted back before ducking low and swinging out, catching one deep in its stomach this time. With gritted teeth and a grunt, she gripped the handle with both hands and dragged it across the wolf before it could pull away, opening its guts up onto the snow immediately turning it pink and red.

Wasting no time the redhead pulled back the bloodied blade and turned to the second wolf as it charged at her. It opened its mouth with a snarl and she plunged the blade forward and up through its skull. She released the handle and moved to one side as the wolf collapsed awkwardly with a howl of pain. With a pant she turned to its twitching body, frowning at how it tried to close its muzzle and couldn't. She tugged out the blade with effort and sank it through its skull once more, quickly ending its life.

Exhausted, spattered with blood and shivering she fell to her knees once more before her father and son, panting as she dug her sword into the snow with her left hand and clutched it for support.

"How nobly you fight to protect statues mortal."

"They're not statues," Amaris growled back before turning to face the speaker. She tensed at the sight, before her towered a being just over six feet in height, muscular and clad only in a midnight blue cloth wrapped about its waist and black boots that stopped just before its knees, its skin was a smooth bronze with lighter freckles on it like the coat of a fallow deer. He looked almost human yet seemed too bestial; he was immune to the cold despite how exposed his flesh was and did not even flinch. In his right hand he clutched a spear, it was taller than him with a three pronged top, pointed at the top like a normal spear with a smaller point curling out to the left and a larger one curling down to the right. The most noticeable thing about him were the two long, ivory antlers that grew up from his head between two narrowed back, soft, tawny deer's ears and the imposing, bronze deer's skull that concealed his face.

"They are for the moment," he retorted in a deep voice, "and you should not freeze to death for them, that will not help their plight."

"What do you know of their plight?" she demanded, fierce despite her unease. She knew from several images and statues who she talked to, Hircine, Daedric Prince of the hunt. Once, just over four years ago, the Daedric Prince had rescued her from torture and imprisonment when she had not thought escape possible, he had done it for a price of course, one which her brother Hadvar had paid.

"Not enough," the Daedric Prince admitted.

"The wolves," Amaris remarked accusingly as she pushed herself to her feet at last though she was unsteady. Scars upon her wrists and ankles from the last time she had been imprisoned ached with the cold and the strain she had put them under from her fight. "Are they your doing?"

It was impossible to read the Daedric Prince's expression as he looked back at her with brown eyes shadowed by the mask. "They sensed easy prey and guided me here," he confessed, "but you are not easy prey Amaris Frey, not for the Thalmor, not for the Daedra, nor for the Aedra or that strange creature in between, our heartless creator."

Amaris flinched at his words as an image of Lorkhan, the creator and trickster god of Tamriel, filled her head. He was a terrifying and yet beautiful being, resembling all races and yet none of them, beast and man, Daedra and Aedra, Lorkhan was all things and something else entirely. She shuddered as the vision seemed to consume her, he was there, somewhere in the hot bowels of the earth, howling in his rage, still without a heart, still weak but very much still in existence.

"What do you know about what's happened here?" Amaris queried fiercely as she shook off the vision. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you?" he retorted back coldly. "Where you go trouble follows doesn't it? Assassins go mad, empires crumble, guilds fall and all of Tamriel itself trembles in the wake of its creator."

"I...I didn't do this!" she protested. "There was a dragon," she pointed feebly in the direction where the statue had stood, "Akatosh." She clamped her mouth shut as if afraid of what she had uttered, could it really have been him? Why? How?

"The Aedra of time," Hircine murmured, "in a world the Aedra should not be, certainly such a sight would turn mortals to...well crystal it would appear. Maybe...or maybe that's what something wants us all to believe. Truthfully young wolf slayer I do not yet know the truth of this, I came because the others will, because you were here and because none of this bodes well for the Daedric Princes or Tamriel. Now, if I were you I would run because you are being hunted, Molag Bal would have you in chains, a treasure to boast in Coldharbour, the vessel of Lorkhan, captured should he return again in the wake of all this, and Hermaeus Mora too would enjoy exploring and studying the mystery that is you. We all thought of plucking you out of existence once save Clavicus and Sheogorath, it was after we all finally learned what you were, Sheogorath firsthand, seems he always knows where to be just like you. He insisted it was done but we suspected that was just madness, yet we allowed you to live anyway.

Four years of nothing, four years of peace in Cyrodiil, only Clavicus bothered to keep an eye on you after a time. Now this, now a golden dragon appears, the statue of the avatar of Akatosh come to life apparently, and people are turned to crystal, and here you are, the only one spared in the middle of it all, why?"

"I don't know," she answered quietly.

"No but you must wonder as we all will now. Is it because of him? Is he still in you?"

"No," she protested with a wild shake of her head. "Kester took the blood!"

"What if one drop was spared? One tiny drop, it would be all he would need. Run now Amaris, run far and fast and be thankful that the real hunter does not chase you."

"Why not?" she dared to ask.

"I have no desire yet to harm you and I did not free you only to be the one to imprison you. Now, Molag Bal nears, the city is safe no more for you, take flight and fight hard little warrior."

She glanced back to her father and son, they seemed scared and it made her eyes fill with fresh tears.

"They will be safe," Hircine assured.

Amaris reached a hand to stroke his son's glassy cheek softly before leaning forward to kiss his brow. "I'm so sorry Kester," she choked out, "I would not leave you but dying for you will not help." She turned then up to her father, a Psijic mage, he should not have succumbed to such a fate so easily, whatever it was it was a powerful curse. She grasped his shoulder tight, finding his robes hard and cold beneath her fingers. "Mind him," she pleaded, "I know you will, and I will see you both free again."

She turned at last and started to run. She dared to risk returning to her home first, the humble former quarters of the first ever Gray Fox, unsurprising that Mercer Frey would have to live in the home of his idol. There she changed her clothes into something more suitable for the weather and filled a satchel with food and a pouch of water, potions, and seized upon a dagger. Finally, she scribbled out a note for Mercer. It was the hardest thing to do and took the longest as she thought over what to tell him. She wasn't even entirely sure where he was, he had told her he was going to Bravil but she had known that was a lie. She had overheard him talking to Quaranir and insisting that he not leave Amaris and Kester until Mercer had returned. She had her suspicions and fears about the truth, recalling how a few weeks after Cynric had missed Kester's first birthday Mercer had insisted the thief was fine and yet the lie had not quite reached his face. After a while he had seemed to begin planning something and murmured to Amaris when she commented about Cynric that she shouldn't worry.

'Would he be so foolish?' she wondered. 'What if he has gone to Skyrim?' She swallowed hard, she had never thought to return there even though a great part of her missed it but where else could or should she go? Hircine had warned her to leave the Imperial City and the only people she had to go to were Cynric and Hadvar, both residents of Skyrim. 'Would the Thalmor want me still? Would they even know me?' Her appearance had changed a lot since those days not just because of time but because of the blood leaving her, her features had become more pronounced, elfin in nature, her skin a little darker and her eyes were both just grey, she was half-Altmer and half-Nord, an unusual being, ethereal, pretty in a fashion to some and just odd to others.

She wrote the note at last:

'_Dear Mercer,_

_I failed. Our son is in the city, cursed but I don't know why, a crystal statue with my father._

_There was a dragon, the statue of Akatosh come to life again. I don't know why I was spared but I am so sorry. I've gone to Skyrim, I'm going to find a way to make it right. I am so sorry.'_

She did not sign the note but instead sealed it up with string and hid it in a secret compartment in the wall where she knew the thief would look if he returned before her. Finally ready, she slipped out into the snow in a simple, brown tunic with matching pants, a studded, leather skirt, a hide cuirass, fur gantlets, fur boots and a hooded cloak of fine dove grey with a subtle silver pattern of swans at the edge of the hood, the end and its cuffs, it had been a gift from Cynric.

She headed out into the bleak grey afternoon, escaping the city and heading north. She crossed over the Rumare River and found herself thrust into the wilderness, she avoided the main road though was nervous travelling through the forest. Her fine cloak would probably attract bandits but it was the only cloak she had for this unnatural cold weather, the Imperial City rarely had frost and almost never had snow, only the areas closest to Skyrim and high up in the mountains ever had snow. To have such thick layers of it was unnatural and only added to the feeling of doom that was starting to shadow Cyrodiil.

The redhead moved through a forest blanketed in silence, it was thick and unnatural and every time snow fell from the trees, a bird called out or a branch snapped, she tensed with unease. Mercer had taught her to sense sounds better and she was able to tell that none of them were threatening but in such a foreboding silence, any noise was a disturbance.

She moved for hours, passing by forgotten Ayleid ruins, abandoned or bandit ruled forts, damaged houses and farmhouses that looked bleak in this sudden winter. All the farm animals were in barns now, save for those that had roamed free near the farms, these poor creatures were either perished beneath the snow or standing in caves or under trees, vacant eyed and shaking. Only the wolves and bears seemed unperturbed by the weather, wandering through the land with an alarming ease, more eager to hunt than ever as prey had become scarce but so too had the farmers and hunters that might stop them.

When the sky began to grow dark and her breath's mist grew thicker and her flesh sore with the cold as frostbite began to mar her cheeks, Amaris knew she would have to find shelter. She had a bedroll slung over her shoulder with her satchel but out here without a fire she would freeze and with the snow so heavy on the ground there was nothing to start a fire with and nowhere to start it. So with reluctance she headed for the main path, kept carefully to her east so that she would not lose her way.

She found a couple of houses on it but knocking on the doors brought no one, she peered through windows but the curtains were closed and the doors were locked. So on she travelled hoping to find some form of sanctuary. Every door seemed barred to her and the day seemed to grow darker and colder with every step. She was weakening already, succumbing to the cold despite her layers, and unable to see in the fading light. She reached for a scroll to conjure light but then paused, afraid of what new predators the light might draw to her. Yet to wander on aimlessly in the dark seemed foolish.

A low growl let her know that something had found her without the light and she plucked out her sword and turned readily to fight. A huge, ungainly beast looked back at her with a calm hunger, reptilian in appearance it was easily twice her height, standing on two long, clawed feet. Its muscular arms hung limp at its sides, both of them clawed and a spiked tail coiled round its right side, large and heavy. It had a long muzzle, partially open showing off an impressive row of teeth, along it and the back of its neck were spikes, large at the back of its skull just behind its raised red eyes. At its throat a small pouch of pink flesh hung, when it started to glow and its mouth widened, Amaris instinctively dodged to the left.

A roar of fire came out of the creature lighting up the path briefly in crimson and amber before the beast turned with a guttural roar and charged for Amaris. Despite its height and weight it was fast on its two legs and its long arms were reaching for her in seconds. She flung off her cloak and swung out with her sword but it did not even graze its tough hide. It backhanded her causing her to fly through the air with a scream of pain before she hit the snow. She rolled and attempted to catch her breath as she rose to her feet, ready for the next blow. She met it with the sword and a dagger crossed over but they barely held the clawed hand back. She found her knees buckling under its weight and was forced to sag and sidestep as it tumbled forward clumsily. She turned and tried to stab an eye but it moved quicker and caught her again, this time slashing at her cuirass with its claws. The armour held but only just, scratched and dented in the process.

She turned to dodge again but it turned too and caught her with its tail, tripping her up with it and sending her into the snow. When the next breath of fire came Amaris was not fast enough, she let out a scream as fire heated up her armour and the back of her left arm was badly burned. She fell to the ground gasping, sinking her wounded limb into the snow for relief. Knowing she could not rest, she turned again, pushing her sword up into its flap of flesh and slashing outwards with a shriek of victory.

The beast howled in agony, clutching its ruined pouch with one claw as a dark, molten like blood dripped onto the snow and hissed through it. Amaris tried to take advantage, standing up and striking out again but the creature moved quicker, catching her again with its claws, this time grasping her tight by the throat in one hand. Her vision turned black as her body screamed with pain and she tried in vain to swing her sword.

_He was there, standing directly before her, tall, toned and handsome, bird, beast and man, that ever present hole in chest gaping at her. His eyes were filled with a fury as they seemed to spy her, one a sickly grey, the other a bloody red. "Sweet little vessel," he murmured softly, his voice seductive and smooth, "you freed the blood."_

_She could hear a voice screaming behind him, hollering in pain and it made her fill sick, she could remember screaming in pain like that and knew what he must be suffering. He was just behind him but she dared not look. She felt his hand upon her chin, gentle and yet deadly. "I would not harm you," he assured her, "never you for I am you and through you I will come again._"

There was a flash of light, loud, crackling and warm and then there was nothing. Cold, darkness and voices, muffled and far, she tried to ignore them, tried to slip away into the dark but then she saw something else. An assassin always in her mind and heart, blonde and fierce, and once quite wild and mad, he looked saner now as he stood staring down at her with warm blue eyes. In his arms he rocked a baby, soothing its soft cries with a whisper. Kester, she had failed one, she could not fail the other, not her son.

"She's alive," this surprised remark came from what sounded like a Nord male, "well barely."

"Joy and happiness," another Nord male, much more sarcastic than the first.

Amaris let out a groan of pain as she started to awaken and her arm immediately throbbed. "Well enough of this," the first male grumbled, "we're wasting time."

"Wait you can't leave her!"

Amaris perked up at the third voice, it sounded vaguely familiar. She heard footsteps near her and then a cry of shock. "Amaris?" She opened her eyes and found herself looking up at an Altmer mage but not one to fear.

"Orthorn," she murmured in relief.

"You know her?" This gruff question came from the first male.

Amaris pushed herself upright to take in the speakers at last. One was a muscular Nord with a closely shaved head, a beard in a tight knot, red war paint on his face and armour of steel and fur, his arms and face exposed to the frosty elements. He looked at Amaris with an unimpressed, blue eyed stare, holding a torch out towards her. The other was another Nord, a mage with a diamond shaped face, a pronounced chin and sharp, midnight blue eyes that regarded Amaris with disinterest. He wore dark blue robes, knotted at the waist with a rope, a matching hooded cloak pinned over them with a large, gold clasp at his shoulder.

"She's a friend," Orthorn explained as he reached out a hand. He had changed a little since Amaris had seen him last, still a green eyed, clean shaven, handsome, blonde Altmer, he looked better fed now, his appearance no longer gaunt and scared. It was why Amaris had sympathised with him when he had inadvertently gotten rescued with her and Mercer by her father Quaranir from the Thalmor. Whilst Mercer and Quaranir were happier to ignore him and would have left him for dead Amaris had been reminded of herself a little upon meeting Orthorn in chains, starved and scared as she had once been.

'Friend,' she thought numbly as she waved off the hand and stood herself despite the pain it caused her. It would not do to look weak in front of these Nords or they were liable to abandon her and continue on their way as planned and she could not have that, she might never find anyone else out here nor was she liable to find shelter. 'Were we friends?' she wondered. She had sympathised with the Altmer mage but never properly warmed to him because of his race; to her all Altmer had been wicked at worst, stuck up and ignorant at best, the irony of it all was accepting that she was half-Altmer herself.

"Well bring her or don't," the warrior grumbled without a care as he began to trudge forward through the snow.

"Where are you going?" Amaris queried as she looked to him.

"To an inn," the mage retorted sharply, "it would be foolish to continue travelling in these conditions." He eyed her pointedly, the scorn clear in his expression. "Where did you think you were going?" he queried coldly.

"North," she murmured.

"Good luck," the warrior sneered.

"She can come with us to an inn," Orthorn spoke up quickly. He glanced at Amaris with concerned green eyes. "You won't keep travelling through the night will you? You're injured," he commented quietly.

"An inn would be good," the redhead confessed. She opened her satchel and plucked out a healing potion, pulling out the cork she turned her attention to her burned limb and awkwardly poured some of the potion onto it. She tensed and let out a yelp as the potion burned the limb more causing it to hiss angrily.

"That's no ordinary burn," Orthorn observed as he turned to the other mage. "Farengar could you help?"

"I could but I won't," the other mage answered haughtily, "I need to conserve my magic out here."

"Quite right," the warrior remarked sternly, "there might be more Daedra out here. Now, let's get it going." He started marching on again with his torch thrust out in front.

Farengar sighed before following after him. "There's an inn near here," the mage remarked, his Skyrim accent thick, "up to the right over the hill, it's somewhat secluded."

"Come," Orthorn urged Amaris as he extended a hand to her which she ignored. She instead pulled out a bandage and wrapped it around her limb clumsily, sealing it tight with a steel pin. "I'm sorry about him," the Altmer added softly, "Farengar can be a bit...unhelpful. I would heal you but...I don't know any healing magic."

"It's alright," Amaris murmured as she gritted her teeth to the pain and started walking. "Why are you here in Cyrodiil?" she pried curiously as they followed the warrior and mage off the path and up a small but steep hill. Amaris had to reach out to trees and rocks to pull herself up with as her feet threatened to give way in the snow. Farengar looked unsteady in the snow moving awkwardly and slowly but he resisted reaching out for aid whilst the Nord warrior charged on effortlessly.

"Farengar has an interest in dragons," Orthorn retorted, "and there were rumours of some in Cyrodiil, when we got to Bruma they dismissed it as false but Farengar wanted to travel to Cheydinhal since one was supposedly sighted near there. It's hard to say, there have been rumours of them in Skyrim too, Titus killed Alduin in life and death but people still doubt and fear. There have been stories everywhere, lately though there seem to be more, Solstheim in particular but Farengar thougth Cyrodiil a more preferable climate to visit."

'Then the gold dragon in the city might not have been the first,' Amaris realised in horror. She forced herself to hurry on as the torchlight, their only source of light, grew smaller and further away causing the shadows to grow longer and the trees and rocks to become harder to spot.

They travelled for fifteen more minutes, during which the snow started to fall again, at first deceptively light and gentle, it was beautiful to look at as it drifted down, but then it grew heavier turning into a blizzard, silent but deadly. The torch started to flicker out then, finally sizzling out under the heavy flakes just as a slightly lopsided wooden building came into view. It was half lost beneath the snow already, raised up on three wooden steps with a narrow porch, a lone iron lantern hanging at its single door. There was a battered wooden sign sticking out from the top of the porch, the name and symbol of the inn half lost beneath the snow staining it. Amaris glanced up at it as they neared, it looked like the symbol might be a ring of some sort but it was hard to tell and the only letters she could make out where 'Hun'.

They entered one after the other, Orthorn last, into a murky, quiet looking tavern causing the lone barkeep and five patrons to look up at first in surprise then with an odd sort of relief. There were three women, a Dunmer, a Bosmer and a Breton, two males, both Nords, and the barkeep was a male Imperial who eyed them with glee.

"Welcome, welcome," the Imperial greeted enthusiastically, "I am Afer, owner of this humble establishment. Business has been slow at the moment as you might have guessed so you are most welcome!"

"Sit by the fire please," the Dunmer woman urged as she stood up from her seat to stoke the dying flames.

"Yes get close," the Bosmer enthused as she rose and offered her seat out to them, "you must get warm."

"Ha, you think a little snow bothers me?" the warrior scoffed at them. "I'm a true Skyrim Nord," he boasted.

"They're just been hospitable Hrongar," Farengar commented scornfully as he approached the dusty bar. "Do you have anything to eat or drink?"

"Plenty to eat now," one of the male Nords, a stocky blond, remarked happily. "You must have supplies," he added awkwardly.

Farengar gave him a cold stare and said bluntly, "none to share."

"The snow was unexpected," Afer explained, "killed most of the business. Let me offer you something to drink."

"Something warm," the Bosmer repeated, almost excitedly.

Amaris looked at the elves uncomfortably, there was something off about all of them but she was not sure what. Was it simply the weather driving them to fear and despair? Had they found themselves trapped here with little food? Surely though if she and the others could make it here then these people could make it out? She studied them carefully, none of them looked like warriors or mages, though mages could be hard to spot, perhaps they feared perishing in such harsh weather and perhaps they were right to. The redhead sighed and followed Orthorn to sit at the edge of the fire, ignoring the Bosmer's look of scorn.

Farengar joined them with reluctance, as did Hrongar who scowled at the flames and then the Dunmer who wouldn't stop staring at him. "I suppose there are enough rooms to stay?" Farengar quipped loudly and coldly.

"Plenty, plenty," Afer answered brightly as he busied about preparing their drinks.

Amaris sniffed the air; there was an odd, unpleasant stale smell of rot coming from somewhere. 'Spoiled food?' she pondered. 'Mould? This is a rotten place; it must only get trade because there's no competition.' She looked about the main room, it was dusty and dirty, cobwebs in the corners, soot on the floor before the fire, dark stains on the floorboards, old and feebly scrubbed at and spatters, probably of spoiled alcohol, on the walls.

"Your arm!" This exclaim came suddenly from the Breton woman, a brunette in her thirties, who approached Amaris and leaned uncomfortably close to her bloody arm. Amaris recoiled when the woman sniffed her wound. "It's fresh," she remarked with wide, bloodshot, blue eyes.

"Terrible," the Dunmer commented hastily as she tugged the Breton back. "Alva here is...studying to be a healer," she stated quickly, "but she's a novice, all interested in studying the wounds, first step."

"Right," Amaris retorted bluntly as she leaned back into her seat and further away the Dunmer.

"Here are you drinks," Afer said happily as he approached with a wooden tray, "fresh and made with the finest ingredients."

"What is it?" Amaris queried suspiciously as he started lifting frothy mugs off the tray and onto the wooden table between them all and before the fire.

"My speciality," he bragged, "Afer's Seasoned Mead, perfect for cold weather like this."

"If you say so," Hrongar grumbled as he snatched his up and downed half of it in one gulp. He let out a satisfactory burp and murmured, "hmm not bad."

Farengar gave his a questioning sniff before sipping at it, he found the taste warm and sweet but was reluctant to show it and so gave only a grunt before taking bigger sips. Orthorn was too relieved to have something to drink to care how it tasted and he gulped his mug down without really taking it in. Amaris hesitated to even lift hers giving Hrongar the chance to snap it up and gulp it down, she gave no protest and did not ask for another.

The group sat for a mere ten minutes before Farengar murmured about rooms again.

"Yes," Afer said with an eager nod, "you shall all share one, much easier, yes, come."

They stood up and followed him into a cold, dark room with four single beds, the sheets were tattered and torn and there were more stains on the floor and no candles in the room. "Sleep well," Afer remarked happily before he exited the room.

"Well this is just great," Farengar complained sardonically as he manoeuvred to a bed awkwardly.

"Better in here than out there," Orthorn pointed out. He looked in Amaris' direction through the gloom and queried, "how's your arm?"

"Fine," she lied as she sat on the edge of the bed against the left wall. Truthfully the pain was blazing and she doubted she would sleep through it. 'Who could sleep here anyway?' she wondered with a shudder. 'Those people are weird.' Hrongar's snore was her answer.

Half an hour later found Farengar and Orthorn fast asleep too despite the poor conditions, Amaris was lying down but sleep was impossible. Pain, guilt, worry and fear plagued her all at once as she wondered what state Quaranir and Kester were in. Were they really statues? Were they dead? She shuddered at the thought and shook her head, no that couldn't be but what had happened to them? What would Mercer say?

The redhead tensed suddenly as the door was flung open. "Grab them," Afer cried out.

"Tasty, tasty morsels!" the female Breton's voice called.

Amaris jumped up with her sword out but one of the male Nords was ready for her, hitting her hard in the skull with the back of a club, sending her reeling back to the bed. "I told you she didn't drink any of that mead," he sneered.

She fought for consciousness as her head spun, stars flashed before her eyes and she felt someone lifting her up. She wanted to scream but only a groan of pain came out as she felt ill with dizziness and the ceiling became the floor.

"I want her arm," the female Breton hissed eagerly.

"I want the Nord mage, mages always taste good and Nords are a delicacy," the Dunmer commented.

"The Nord first," Afer commanded, "he's the biggest. Let's get the others downstairs."

'What in Oblivion is going on?' Amaris wondered fearfully as she felt herself being carried down. With each step a fresh pang filled her skull. The room grew darker and then lighter again as Afer lit some torches. Amaris immediately wished he hadn't as she caught blurred glimpses of what looked like human remains. A horrible, sour smell was rife in the air; it was rot, death and decay, aging blood, unwanted bones and the shreds of rotting flesh.

A moment of panic surged through the redhead as she felt manacles going around her wrists and ankles, she wanted to scream, to protest, beg and cry but she swallowed it all down with a mouthful of vomit. 'They're not Thalmor,' she told herself, 'or Falmer, this isn't Skyrim, you can get out of this, you can.' Her heart was pounding loudly over and over and a sob escaped her despite herself. 'These are iron manacles, Mercer said iron is easy to get out off, easy.'

"_It's not nice being a prisoner._" That voice, she tried to shrug it off, tried to shake away the vision that attempted to torment her again. There was screams again, familiar screams, a male from somewhere close. Her wrists and ankles were burning along with her arm now; the scars were uncomfortable against the manacles. 'Chains,' she told herself as she flexed her right arm, 'chains are moveable, up just a little further.' She opened her eyes, their assailants were gone, it was just her, Orthorn, and Farengar, both of whom were still unconscious. 'Drugged,' she thought with a scowl as she inched her hand up to her ear. 'Thank you Mercer,' she thought as her fingers grasped a lockpick secreted behind her ear. She had thought it silly to always have one on her since she wasn't a thief, now she was grateful and determined to offer her husband her gratitude should she see him again.

"Farengar! Orthorn!" She called out to the mages in vain as she fiddled with the cuff around her left wrist. 'Thank you whoever that these are long chains,' she thought with relief. Any shorter and she wouldn't have been able to stretch across her right hand to her left wrist. At last with great effort it clicked free and she silently thanked Mercer once more for training her with lockpicks, she was no expert but these were not expert locks. It was harder to free her right hand as her left arm was reluctant to bend and the pain made her yelp. "Farengar! Orthorn!" she cried out again, louder this time.

Both hands free, she dropped down and turned her attention to her ankles. They were soon freed to though it took a great effort and she almost snapped the lockpick twice. Free at last, she scurried over to Farengar and slapped him hard across the right cheek. It had the desired effect and the mage awoke with a curse of anger. "Quickly," she snapped at him, "those people in the inn took us prisoner; I think they want to eat us and they have your friend upstairs!"

He looked at her tiredly before realising that she was not a babbling idiot and he was indeed in chains. Amaris had already turned her attention to Orthorn, hitting him a gentler slap which only caused him to grunt.

Farengar began chanting under his breath as Amaris let out a gasp of pain and sagged against the wall beside Orthorn as she blacked out briefly. She had lost too much blood and the pain in her arm was becoming unbearable and her ankles were threatening to give way, the cold and strain too much for them. 'Keep going,' she told herself, 'come on, you beat Falmer and Thalmor and Lorkhan himself, just keep going.'

"Orthorn please," she begged weakly as Farengar's cuffs snapped free. The Nord stepped away from the wall and brushed down his robe with an unimpressed frown. Orthorn's eyes opened at last, bleary and confused as Amaris sank to her knees.

Farengar gave Orthorn a cool stare as if debating over freeing him or not before he stretched out his hand towards him and repeated his enchantment. Orthorn shook off the chains, looking at them with surprise before glancing at Orthorn and Amaris in confusion. "What's going on?" the Altmer queried.

"A cult of Namira I would guess," Farengar answered moodily, "time to go help what's left of Hrongar."

"Namira?" Orthorn echoed. "Wait, Amaris' arm!" he exclaimed as he saw the now badly bleeding limb.

"What?" Farengar glanced over his shoulder at him. "Hmm I suppose you did help me," he said grudgingly. He kneeled down and extended both hands out to it and murmured a healing spell.

Amaris sighed in relief as the wound began to knit back together and the bleeding finally ceased. "Thank you," she said as she forced herself back to her feet.

"STOP SEASONING ME YOU MAD BASTARDS!" Hrongar's roar of displeasure let them know that he was still alive.

Farengar led the way up swiftly. He burst into the front room and gave the mad group no time to react as he attacked them with bolts of lightning. Orthorn followed hastily, attacking with deadly flames. Amaris held back, waiting for the fire and lightning to die down, when it eventually did the inn keeper and his companions all lay dead.

"What took you so damn long?" Hrongar snapped. He was chain down to a table with a large shaker of salt and pepper by his head. He sneezed and snarled angrily, "two bloody mages and you still take your time!"

"You're lucky we came at all," Farengar remarked calmly before he assisted with freeing Hrongar.

"It wouldn't be worth your life if you didn't," the Nord growled back at him. "Well at least we can sleep in peace now."

"Here?" Amaris exclaimed in horror.

"No one's asking you," the Nord retorted heatedly as he pushed off his chains and sat up.

"Hmm she did help," Farengar admitted quietly.

"She can stay if she wants," Hrongar grumbled, "but if she doesn't want to, why should we care?"

"They're all dead," Orthorn assured Amaris as he looked at her gently, "it would be safe now, safer than out there, it's too cold and dark, you wouldn't get far."

"Where were you going anyway?" Farengar pried bluntly. "You said north."

"Skyrim," Amaris admitted.

"Well we're going to Cheydinhal," Hrongar informed her, "so tomorrow we'll be rid of you."

"Fine," she replied calmly, "but I wouldn't go there, I would get out of Cyrodiil."

"Why?" Orthon and Farengar asked simultaneously.

"It's bad here, something's terribly wrong, I don't know what but people were turned to crystal and now Daedric Princes are about and the weather's changed."

"Is any of this connected with dragons?" Farengar queried with a look of interest.

"Not that I know of," she lied. She could not send them after the gold dragon and probably to their deaths or a worse fate.

"Well we'll see," Farengar murmured.


	4. Chapter 4- The Inescapable Prison

Mercer's scowl had been on his face for so long now that Brynjolf suspected it was close to becoming a permanent feature on the man. "Tell me again," the older Breton growled at the redhead, "why you felt getting us arrested was the best idea?"

Brynjolf sighed and held his hands outwards to Mercer and the Dunmer who was giving him an equally heated look. Only Vex was on his side but then she had agreed and abetted with his plan. "Look it was better than trying to break into the place, if they caught us doing that it would be one potential breakout spot sealed and they would probably chain us to the walls rather than let us walk free in here," Brynjolf argued. "You know I'm right Mercer."

"Oh he knows," Vex said coolly as she glared warningly at an eager eyed Nord prisoner, "he just doesn't want to admit to it because it wasn't his plan."

It had happened quickly enough; they had arrived in Markath with the dawn and an hour later had found themselves in Cidhna Mine, tired from travelling and tense thanks to frayed emotions on the lengthy journey. Mercer and Karliah had spent the majority of it trading insults and accusations and on one particularly heated night Karliah had screamed at Mercer that he was a traitor and a murderer before storming off with tears in her eyes. Brynjolf had been surprised to see the grief in Mercer's own eyes before he hastily banished it and departed into the night himself. Brynjolf and Vex had been equally shocked when Mercer and Karliah had both returned to the camp several hours later having expected the pair to depart for good.

The arrest had come when Brynjolf had pointed at Mercer in the presence of guards and loudly accused him of being a Forsworn; Vex had joined in with these accusations, also accusing him of plotting to murder the Silver-Bloods. Mercer, unaware of the plan the pair had hatched one night when he was away purposely avoiding Karliah, had snapped back curses and denials at them and put up a sincere effort to resist arrest, which had only served to convince the guards of his guilt. Of course his protests had given them enough doubt to arrest Brynjolf, Karliah and Vex along with him and toss all of them into the mine without a trial. It did not help that Vex had slyly accused Karliah of being Mercer's ally.

"Let's not waste time bickering," Karliah snapped. She had been unimpressed with Vex telling the guards that she was Mercer's ally. "We need to find that idiot Endell."

"Should we split up?" Brynjolf suggested with a doubtful look. The mine was huge, a vast combination of tunnels and chambers with many prisoners and guards alike. The guards weren't the same as the city guards, they were little more than corrupt thugs in the pay of the Silver-Blood family and they weren't above beatings and even outright slaughter if a prisoner got too sassy for them. The prisoners were mainly Bretons and mostly male, all of them hungry eyed, clothed in rags if at all and bearing numerous bruises, cuts and scars from being beaten by fellow prisoners or guards, or simply overworked.

All around the thieves prisoners lingered, most of them were at work in the mines, the more silver they mined the better chance they had of getting food. A few hung in the shadows, their watchful eyes on the thieves more than Vex liked. The Imperial was all too aware as to how much she and Karliah stuck out down here.

"In pairs?" Brynjolf suggested again, wondering whose company Mercer would dislike the least.

"I'll go with Mercer," Vex offered swiftly before Karliah could insist she went with the Breton.

The Dunmer cast an unfavourable purple stare on the pale haired woman but said nothing; she merely gave a sharp nod. "We will meet back in this filthy cesspit in an hour," she commanded.

Mercer said nothing he simply started walking and Vex hastened to follow after him. She wondered if they should enquire about Cynric with the other inmates but the stares they gave her made her reluctant to speak with them. She cursed the guards for taking her daggers and looked about carefully for a potential weapon but there wasn't even so much as a rock.

Mercer's grey eyes took in his surroundings swiftly as he scanned the large chamber for evidence of Cynric before leading the way down a tunnel to the left. 'Why did the bloody idiot come here?' he wondered angrily. 'He should have refused the job and if that bitch wouldn't let him he still shouldn't have done it!' He knew, better than the other thieves, exactly how Cynric felt about jails. Sure no thief was fond of imprisonment but Cynric had been traumatised from a cruel experience in a High Rock prison for three years. Whilst most thieves would be able to find their way out of captivity quickly enough Cynric couldn't, he panicked too much. 'Of all the bloody jails too,' the Breton thought angrily, 'it would have to be the strongest and strictest one in all of Skyrim; no one has ever escaped from this damn place!'

He halted with a sigh of frustration when he found his path cut off as three tall, bulky Bretons and Nords stepped out from the shadows armed with shivs and rocks. He had sensed them up ahead but he was also painfully aware of the three at his back who had started to follow him and Vex instantly. He knew that no matter what tunnel they had taken they would run into trouble sooner or later, it was obvious they weren't the run of the mill prisoners and worse; some of these males had undoubtedly been in here a long time, long enough to get a little excited at the potential of female company.

"Front or back?" Vex queried coldly as she folded her arms and gave them a look of impatience.

"Front," Mercer answered.

"Welcome to Oblivion," the tallest, a dark bearded Breton greeted them. "It's not often we have a female guest down here so we thought we'd show some manners by introducing ourselves." He stepped towards them with a leering smile at Vex.

"How kind," she sneered back.

"I'm Alabard," he introduced as his smile widened, "and my friends here are Bernard and Alberic, now what's your name?"

"None of your concern."

Alberic let out a hoarse laugh at this.

"Well that's fine," Alabard jeered, "personally I think it's rude not to know a woman's name before you bed her but we can manage without the formalities."

"Stop talking already," Mercer snarled impatiently.

"Breton you might want to keep her but the rules of Cidnha Mine are not the same as the city," Bernard snapped back at him, "and you are just one old man against six of us or did we forget to mention our three friends there?" He gestured behind them with one hand.

Mercer bristled at the insult and swallowed down a curse as Vex gave Bernard a wide smile. "Fool you just marked yourself as first," she informed him brightly.

Bernard looked puzzled for a moment; Mercer moving to him with surprising speed soon changed that. The Breton tried to move but Mercer too quick, he wrestled Bernard's shiv from him with ease and immediately plunged it into his throat in one sharp, violent movement. Chaos broke out immediately after.

Vex dodged a balding Nord who tried to tackle her from behind before kicking out hard at a blonde Breton and then ducking down to avoid another Nord's shiv.

"It's fun when their feisty!" the balding Nord sneered.

Vex cursed when he grabbed her foot as she tried to kick him in the chest and let out a cry when he twisted her foot hard to the right causing her to lose her balance and turn through the air. She tried to right herself as swiftly as she could and punched him hard in his groin. It had the desired effect and he released her foot with a holler of pain. She turned immediately to meet the Breton's attack, fighting off his punches with her own. He came at her quickly, forcing her to step backwards with a pant, narrowly missing the second Nord's shiv.

Mercer was having as much trouble though no one had landed a blow on him yet. He was too quick and clever with his own blows, though the pair were easily stronger than him they weren't quite fast enough to land a blow on him. He let out a curse of frustration as he wondered just how he was going to beat them though as his own kicks and punches barely made them flinch.

Vex gave a smile of satisfaction as she plunged the Nord's shiv through his right eye causing him to scream in horror and pain. He staggered back taking the weapon with him leaving her to deal with the Breton once more. He was proving to be an annoying foe as he just as swift as she with his attacks. She glowered back at his leering smile and ignored his jibes about this being 'foreplay'.

Alberic let out a yelp when Mercer kicked him hard in the stomach but he recovered too fast for the thief to take advantage.

Vex let out a hiss of pain when the Breton grabbed her by her shoulders and slammed her head hard against the stone wall behind her. She slumped slightly with dizziness and a groan of pain and he was quick to throw her to the ground and stomp hard on her chest.

Mercer glanced over at the Imperial's scream of pain and muttered a curse. He turned to meet Alberic's attack, batting off his shiv wielding arm and stabbing forward with both his fingers, sinking them into Alberic's eyes in one sudden movement. Alberic let out a cry of pain as he stumbled back in a moment of temporary blindness. Mercer took this chance to run to Vex's aid, tackling the Breton hard, forcing him off Vex in a tumble.

The Imperial immediately righted herself in time to kick out hard at Alabard's shins hard before he could reach Mercer. Alabard fell with a grunt and Vex wasted no time in kicking his head over and over. She stopped only when the sweat was dripping down her and the Breton had stopped moving.

Mercer sat up from the other Breton's wide eyed body and spat on his face angrily before yanking out the shiv that was embedded in the man's chest. He stood up numbly pausing to touch his left side. He muttered, "shit," when his hand came away with blood before wiping his palm hastily on his trouser leg. "Let's go," he grumbled at Vex.

"What's all the commotion?"

"New prisoners causing trouble just Madanach," the Orc guard grumbled back.

The older Breton tutted loudly before turning his attention back to the man in chains on the wooden floor mumbling to himself. He pushed him back hard with his foot, pushing him down to the floor and holding him down there with his foot on his throat. "Resistors just like you," he remarked approvingly.

Wild, blue eyes looked up at him fearfully before the young male gave a bloody smile and muttered, "must resist, meant to resist the chains, meant to escape, can't let Amaris down again."

The older Breton lifted his foot only to press it down hard on the younger man's chest causing him to give a grunt of pain. "I told you before, join with my cause and you will get out of your chains, until then you're a slave down here like everyone else, my slave you worthless pickpocket."

"Why don't you just kill him?" the Orc queried wearily as he eyed the battered and bloodied man with disgust. "If you let him go he's only going to tell others about the tunnel."

"Because pretty boy here is clever and sharp," the Nord retorted as he leaned down to the man, "he will be useful to the cause."

"To Oblivion with your cause!" the younger male snapped back in a moment of clarity. A painful punch to his face was his answer. He screwed his face up in pain as fresh blood leaked out from his already broken nose.

"Borkul go fetch a guard," Madanach commanded calmly as he stood upright.

"No, no, no!" the man started to shriek.

The Orc gave a smirk of pleasure before he nodded and departed from the small and yet oddly comfortable room. For a prison it could be much worse, at least for Madanach, but being the King in Rags had its perks.

"You're a Breton, thief," Madanach scorned down at the babbling man, "it's shameful the way you refuse to help your own people."

"No guard, no guard," the man pleaded as tears filled his eyes and he tried to reach out to the older Breton with his hands but failed thanks to his chains.

"Too late," Madanach informed him coolly, "maybe after you'll change your tune about helping the Forsworn."

It did not take the Orc long to return to the humble quarters with a six foot tall, muscular Nord guard in tow. He was clad from shoulder to foot in expensive steel armour, fur showing under his shoulder pads and gauntlets, a sword at his waist and a fur and steel shield clutched tightly in his right hand. He was somewhere in forties, a grizzled looking man with long, greying brown hair held back from his face in a simple ponytail, and an equally long beard to match. Compared to the other guards he was impressive but compared to the Orc he was barely imposing.

"You wanted help?" the guard queried Madanach bluntly.

Madanach stood up from the bloodied Breton prisoner and gestured down to him with one hand and a sigh. "He is being uncooperative, I believe the special room you save for the more unruly prisoners proved most effective last time."

"NO! NO! NOOOO!" the Breton started to scream as he shook his chains in a violent fury. "No, nnnoo," he started to laugh crazily between his pleas, "this isn't right, no, no, this isn't High Rock, no, nnnooo Clavicus Vile is playing tricks!"

The guard frowned before nodding tiredly. "Unchain him from the floor," he instructed.

Madanach nodded back with a pleased smile before plucking a plain, iron key out of his trouser pocket and bending down to undo the lock that held the man's chains to the floor. Once they were free the guard seized him, pulling him to his feet and dragging him from the room.

"I'm getting tired," Mercer growled at the battered Nord he had pinned against the wall, "if you don't tell me what I want to know I'm going to cut out your useless tongue and question someone else."

Vex frowned at the wide eyed man and turned his dagger about carelessly in her hand. She and Mercer had been wandering about the prison for twenty minutes now without success and Mercer had decided to take a more pragmatic approach. Overhearing the Nord discussing a 'Breton thief' with a Khajiit, he had knocked the Khajiit and seized the Nord, and begun questioning him.

The Nord had decided to be evasive but after a few kicks and punches it was starting to appear like he might be more willing to cooperate so Mercer had decided to give him another chance. The Breton had also decided to pause in his beating of the man as he really was tired and his side was started to burn with pain now.

"Lllook," the man stammered, "all I know is that people are saying Madanach's taken a Breton thief for his new pet."

"Who's Madanach?" Mercer was quick to snarl.

The Nord swallowed back a nervous laugh. "He's the boss down here, the Forsworn King in Rags, no one goes against him."

"King in Rags?" Vex sneered. "That's not much of a title."

"Where is this Rag King?" Mercer demanded, slamming the Nord's head against the stone wall for good measure.

The Nord gave a grunt of pain before muttering, "in a room through tunnels to the east but you won't get past his guards."

"They always say that," Vex mocked.

Mercer smacked the man's head off the wall again, this time knocking him out cold. He released him to fall to the ground and started walking towards a tunnel to the east. Vex hastened to follow, pausing with a worried look when she noticed the small blood spatters on the ground. They looked fresh and when she glanced ahead to the thief she spotted a barely visible stain on his side. 'He's bleeding!' she realised with concern. She considered raising the issue but an approaching trio of unimpressed looking Bretons stilled her tongue.

They travelled and fought for close to an hour, journeying through seemingly endless tunnels and chambers, chasing off curious prisoners, battling off the more hostile ones and even a couple of guards. Mercer paused to bandage his wound with a pilfered shirt but it did little to cease the bleeding and he had paled noticeably during the hour.

When they reached a wooden door blocked by a formidable Orc wearing stark, white face paint, Mercer knew they had reached their destination. "Is the Rag King here?" he demanded rudely.

"Rag King?" the Orc retorted in an appalled manner. "You mean Madanach the King in Rags."

Mercer shrugged. "It's the same thing," he commented dryly.

The Orc took a threatening step forward, raising the pickaxe in his right hand slightly. Even for an Orc he was tall, clad only in ragged trousers with his muscular torso and bulging arms on display, he made Vex just a little nervous. The Imperial thief clenched her own crude, stolen dagger tightly, ready for an inevitable battle.

"Why do you want to see Madanach?" the Orc demanded.

"Let's just say he has something that belongs to me," Mercer answered carefully as he held back a wince knowing that if he drew attention to his wound the Orc might quickly view him as an easy foe.

"Everything down here belongs to Madanach," the Orc retorted sharply. "He's the leader of the Forsworn, they're real killers, if he took something of yours then it was never really yours, he was just retrieving what was always his."

"People aren't property!" Vex blurted out angrily earning a scolding glower from Mercer.

"People?" the Orc echoed with a questioning look. A horrible grin spread across his ugly features making him seem even crueller. "Person," he guessed, "a Breton, just like you," he said with a nod to Mercer.

"That would be right," Mercer admitted.

The Orc lowered his pickaxe at last. "Wait here," he instructed firmly, "I think Madanach would like to meet with you." He turned away from them to unlock the door behind him and Mercer seized his chance.

The Breton rushed forward with all the speed he could muster and jumped up to stab hard through the Orc's neck, slashing his dagger round once it sank in. The Orc let out a roar of pain, trying in vain to reach back to the dagger lodged in his neck, throwing Mercer off in the process. Mercer hit the ground with an agonised grunt and when he failed to rise again Vex hurried forward.

"You idiot!" she snapped as she watched the Orc stagger about with wide eyes. "What were you thinking?" She paused, astonished at herself for daring to call Mercer Frey and idiot but when no admonishment came her look of anger was back.

Mercer shoved away her concerned hands and pushed himself upright, grinning when the Orc finally collapsed to the ground. "I was thinking he was far too big a foe to let wander about and that with him and Madanach we might have been in trouble, now we've evened the odds a bit."

"Have we?" Vex demanded as she looked at the dark bloodstain on his black top pointedly. "That is a deep wound you have Mercer, you need it seen to immediately."

"Well I doubt there are healers down here," Mercer sneered as he stood up and went to the now dead Orc, yanking the dagger from his neck in one rough pull. "Now come on, let's meet Madanach." He pilfered the key from the Orc as well, using it to unlock the wooden door with ease.

Together Vex and Mercer headed up another tunnel, narrower and shorter than the others with torches to guide the way, it led to another door which opened up to a not quite pleasant room with a desk, chair, bed, shelf of food, and a surprised looking Breton. The Breton immediately jumped up with a start, seizing a sword resting beside his chair, he did not raise it however but instead looked to the pair curiously.

Mercer eyed the bloodstained chains on the wooden floor to the left of the man and his frown deepened. "I'm an impatient man so I'm going to be blunt," Mercer addressed the older Breton, "you have a Breton thief in your possession who belongs to me, I want him back."

A grin broke out across the Breton's face and he let out a short chuckle that made Vex grit her teeth in displeasure. "The pickpocket," he jeered, "no one told me he had friends. Certainly he said he was alone down here and it has been three months, you've taken your time to claim him. Well I'm afraid three months in my possession is more than enough time for me to have ownership rights."

"Not of a person!" Vex growled out. "He is no slave!"

"On the contrary he is," Madanach addressed her calmly, "mine."

Mercer took a step towards him and snarled, "where is he? Tell me now unless you want your reign shortened Rag King."

"Or what? I may be old but so are you and I'm strong and whilst there are two of you, you're wounded Breton."

"Why do you need him?" Vex demanded.

"Because he is cunning and quick with hands," Madanach murmured, "and he came here for a reason unlike those other fools, he has a purpose. A man like that, nay a Breton like that is born to be a Forsworn."

"You want to exploit him for your idiotic cause then?" Mercer sneered.

"It was destiny that he came to my attention," Madanach said, "he was paid to free me and in time he will, he will free all the Forsworn down here and aid our cause."

"You're mad," Vex snapped with a shake of her head.

"And senile," Mercer grumbled.

"I'm neither!" Madanach retorted sharply as anger flashed through his brown eyes.

"Look I've tortured people for less," Mercer murmured darkly, "just tell me where he is."

Madanach studied the Breton's gaze and saw the ugly truth in them; this man had tortured someone before. Slightly nervous, Madanach gripped his sword tighter and sneered, "learning a lesson in loyalty."

"Where?" Mercer repeated coldly as he took another step forward. He was feeling dizzy, his brow was starting to sweat and his body felt tired and weak, he knew he could not keep this up for much longer. 'You'd better be worth all this trouble Cynric,' he thought angrily. Feeling his gold pendant bounce off his chest with his step he caught a vision of Amaris' worried grey eyes and he knew he could not return to her unsuccessful. Cynric was as much as brother to his wife as her true brother Hadvar, if anything happened to him she would be grief stricken and probably tormented by guilt as well, undoubtedly believing that she should have tried to save him.

"He's in the Correction Room," Madanach confessed at last, "where the guards take the more unruly prisoners."

"And where is that?" Vex demanded. For all the ill she felt towards Cynric the man certainly didn't deserve torture and imprisonment! Seeing Madanach give a mocking smile made her fill with rage but she remained still, hopeful that Mercer had some sort of plan, some way to deal with this.

"Return the way you came and head up the tunnel to the south, you'll be able to find the room soon enough, it's the one with all the guards," Madanach taunted them. "Even without your wound Breton you wouldn't stand a chance, they'll cut you down quick enough."

"You don't know me," Mercer answered frostily. "If I have time I'll return for your head you senile, old bastard." He turned away from Madanach making a retreat back through the door and down the tunnel.

Vex hastened after him with an angry look. "You're leaving him?" she queried in shock.

"I don't have the time," Mercer grumbled. "Let's just get Cynric and get out of this Oblivion hole."

"Mercer you heard him, the place will be heavily guarded, what are you going to do?"

"I'm not going to be seen that's what," Mercer snapped back at her, "and neither are you. I'll be going in alone, you hang back and wait, I'll need help on the way out."

"We shouldn't have split up," Vex murmured, "this is madness."

"This is just shit typical of Cynric," Mercer complained as they continued walking, heading up the tunnel to the south this time. "That bloody ejit is incapable of keeping himself out of trouble."

Cynric let out another hoarse howl of agony as the lash caught his back again, tearing away skin with it. "Not in High Rock, not in High Rock," he stammered wildly with a shake of his head.

"You're in Cidhna Mine!" a guard snapped at him from behind.

The Breton thief was chained face front to a stone wall, he was naked, exposed to a three pronged, spiked whip and bound with iron cuffs about his wrists, ankles and neck, each of which had tiny spikes on the inside that dug into him every time he moved or a guard pulled on his chains.

"Amaris," he muttered with a shudder. He could see her, his beloved sister with her long, dark hair and bewitching blue eyes, attractive and charming as everyone in their family was even at her tender fifteen years.

"Is dead," a guard growled at him bluntly, "you told us that the last time you were here, raped and murdered while you did nothing!"

Cynric shuddered and let out a wail. "I couldn't, I couldn't!" The whip struck again causing his entire body to twitch with the impact as he let out another scream of pain.

"We don't want to hear about that," a third guard said sternly. He stood just behind turning a poker in a low fire. He lifted it out, smiling at his hot, orange glow and took a step towards Cynric, nodding to the other guards causing them to step back. "We want to hear about how you're going to serve Madanach."

"No," Cynric snarled fiercely, "no, to Oblivion with his cause!" He screamed and tears rushed to his eyes when the poker was pressed hard against the fresh wounds on his back.

The man holding the poker suddenly let out a gargle and his body went rigid prompting the other guards to look his way. At first they were confused, by the time they realised that he had a dagger sticking out his throat it was too late. The poker was seized by a Breton male materialising out of thin air; he turned and plunged it hard into a guard's right eye, immediately ruining his vision before he swung it hard into the man's skull sending him unconscious to the floor. He turned to the remaining guard with a snarl. He took advantage of his shock, grabbing the sword the guard hastened to lift, turning it and stabbing the man hard in the waist through a gap in his armour. He released the sword with a satisfied grunt and turned to the babbling Cynric with a wince.

"Look at the state of you," he grumbled as he stepped up towards the man, reaching out to inspect the locks that held his chains.

Cynric let out a whimper and shook. "No more," he begged.

"No more," Mercer agreed with a grunt of pain before he started opening the locks with a lockpick.

It took ten precious minutes for Mercer to free Cynric, during that time his own vision wavered, blackening out briefly and he sagged slightly against the wall. Once the younger Breton was free Mercer helped him into a deceased guard's trousers before removing his own bloodstained black coat and placing it over the younger male.

Cynric looked at Mercer with a watery, confused, blue gaze and opened his mouth as if to say something before he shut it again and shook his head. Mercer gripped him tight with one hand and murmured darkly, "time to go."

Cynric bit back a scream of pain as his entire body shrieked in protest with the movement. He doubled over with a yelp as his legs refused to move properly and almost pulled Mercer down with him. The older Breton let out a curse as his own wound screamed with pain and it took all his strength to pull the younger man upright again. "Put some bloody effort into it or we're both dead," he growled at the younger Breton.

"It burned," Cynric mumbled, "it burned and bled and burned."

"Uh huh." Mercer forced him to move in a limp all the while wondering just how in Oblivion they were going to deal with the guards waiting for them outside.


	5. Chapter 5- Onwards Through the Snow

"Are you alright?" Orthorn pried quietly. It was a cold, frosty morning and the snow lay in thick clumps about them. They had camped in the shelter of the trees the night before and were finally nearing Bruma after a three day journey delayed by Daedra, hungry wolves and bears, bandits and a few rogue mages.

Amaris glanced over at the concerned Altmer and queried softly, "what do you mean?"

"You were..." He paused awkwardly before continuing on. "You were calling out to the assassin in your sleep a lot."

"Assassin?" she echoed in puzzlement.

"Kester," Orthorn informed her. "I didn't realise you...you were so...close. I mean um...I don't mean to pry." He faltered again when he saw the tears building up in the redhead's gentle grey eyes and filled with guilt. "Sorry," he said hastily, "I didn't mean to upset you."

Amaris shook her head dismissively and murmured, "it's not what you think. Kester...Kester is my son, named for the assassin."

"Your...son?" Orthorn echoed dumbly as his green eyes went wide. "I...I didn't realise...I mean I thought you and the thief but then he was killed..."

Amaris shook her head again as she gave a sad smile. "Can you keep a secret Orthorn?" she quipped gently.

The Altmer nodded swiftly as his curiosity got the better of him.

"Mercer's not dead," she confessed, "Titus only pretended to kill him. We have been living in the Imperial City for four years now and we have a son, a beautiful one-year-old called Kester named for my friend Kester who died saving me." The tears began to pour out of her eyes rapidly as she spoke but the sad smile remained as she forced herself to swallow down her sobs.

"Where...where are Mercer and Kester now?"

Amaris bowed her head in grief and guilt. "Mercer left a few days ago before all the trouble, he told me he was going to Bravil but I know that was a lie, Cynric missed Kester's first birthday, it wouldn't be like him, I know he is in trouble and I know Mercer has risked everything to go back to Skyrim and find him."

"And your son?" Orthorn pried.

"He...he's with my father," she murmured moodily.

"Oh."

Up ahead, Farengar paused impatiently to glower back at Orthorn.

"Why are we waiting for them and why in Shor's name are we heading back?" Hrongar snarled angrily. He had yet to get over almost being eaten and had been in a foul temper ever since the event.

"She said Cheydinhal was overrun with vampires," Farengar retorted coldly.

"And what if it is?" Hrongar snapped. "I'll turn them all to dust!"

Farengar shrugged beneath his dark robes. "Your brother isn't paying me enough to deal with vampires," he grumbled.

Afraid of Orthorn and the others meeting a dragon and being turned to crystal or worse, Amaris had convinced them to abandon their mission and return to Skyrim by informing them that half the country was overrun with werewolves and vampires. When Farengar had reacted badly to the news of vampires Amaris had pounced upon the subject, telling him that a vampire queen had taken over Cheydinhal and set her sights on the Imperial City. Hrongar doubted the tale and pointed out that they had heard no such rumours in Bruma but Amaris had argued that the vampires were keeping their presence secret so they could strike at the Imperial City with ease. Counting vampires as his number one fear, not that he would admit it, Farengar had insisted they return to Skyrim, agreeing with Orthorn that it wouldn't be right to let a lady travel there unaccompanied in such dangerous times anyway.

Amaris hastened to catch up to the moody Nords, a few more hours and they would be in the sanctuary of Bruma. "What's Bruma like?" she wondered aloud.

"You've never been?" Farengar retorted coolly as he eyed her with suspicion. Random redheaded women did not usually wander about a country on their own armed to the teeth and capable of breaking locks and outwitting cannibals even wizards failed to fight. Alright so there were the Companions but she didn't seem tall or muscular enough to be one and she didn't have the wet dog smell that usually clung onto them, but she was no mage either nor a bandit or sellsword. Farengar wasn't really sure what she was and even less sure that travelling with her was a good idea.

She shook her head; she and Mercer had travelled the back routes from Skyrim to Cyrodiil, travelling with little rest until they had made it to the Imperial City. Once in the city they had settled and never left until now. "I wasn't one for exploring for a while," she murmured quietly.

"It wishes it was Skyrim," Hrongar sneered, "full of snow and Nords but it's a poor mimic and still distinctly Imperial." He said the last word with disgust causing Amaris to scowl and glower at him, though she wasn't one for politics she had been raised in an Imperial family and as her brother was in the Imperial army she had a lot of loyalty to them despite herself.

They walked through a clearing in the woods and spied the city at last. It rested towards the bottom of the mighty Jerall Mountains, guarded by snow walls and sprinkled in snow it rested on three tiers in an attempt to deal with the uneven rocky terrain beneath it. The mountains themselves were rock and trees, their peaks hidden beneath the low, misty clouds, with heavy layers of snow visible just beneath the clouds.

"We will get supplies from Bruma and continue on while we have the light," Farengar decided.

"Back to Skyrim without anything to show for ourselves," Hrongar grumbled.

"Better returning alive than undead," Farengar retorted frostily.

Amaris sucked in a breath as she stared up at the looming mountains; Skyrim was just on the other side. 'Can I really do this?' she wondered. 'I've come this far but what am I expecting? Will there be anyone there who can help? The college at Winterhold perhaps.' She shuddered as she thought of the magical school, the one and only time she had been there one of her closest friends had been murdered. 'Marcurio,' she thought as a pang of grief shot through her, 'Cynric said he got you a nice spot but I've never visited...You died for me and not once have I gone to your grave...I should do that, I should go to Winterhold but first Riften.'

Hrongar pointed at Amaris accusingly as they moved towards the path that led up to Bruma. "I don't buy your vampire story," he snarled, "and I'm going to ask people in Bruma about it."

Amaris shrugged nonchalantly and retorted, "fine but they won't know anything about it, I told you, the vampires don't want the whole country to know about their hostile takeover."

"Hostile takeover," Hrongar scoffed whilst Farengar visibly paled and shuddered.

Amaris knew it sounded like nonsense and she knew if it had been anything else, like a hostile ghoul or zombie takeover the mage would have had the sense to question it but thankfully he was too scared to risk doubting her.

"Look let's just get the supplies, get back to Skyrim and warn the Jarl about the vampires," Farengar said as he started to walk quicker.

"And what about the dragons?" Hrongar demanded. "Balgruuf won't be impressed."

"He rarely is," Farengar grumbled under his breath.

When they stepped into the city they found it quiet, colder than the rest of Cyrodiil had become, and covered in snow. There were large braziers of iron burning in the streets in an attempt to offer heat to the residents but it went unfelt, the few people there wore heavy clothes of leather and fur and moved quickly with their heads bowed low against the sharp, chilly air. The city itself had been built and rebuilt so many times people had lost track of its changes, the houses were all log cabins built from the sturdy trees that grew on the Jerall Mountains, the castle was stone and one of three important features, the other two being an ancient chapel to Talos and an equally ancient, badly worn statue supposedly of the Hero of Kvatch.

The small group entered near the grand chapel, it stood firm against the weather, its stained glass windows spattered with snow. Amaris peered up at it curiously, she had heard every city in Cyrodiil had once had a chapel to a member of the Nine but this was the only one still intact despite the Aldmeri Dominion's best efforts to lay waste to the city and see the chapel torn down. She frowned as she noticed how all the faces of the Nine were smeared over with snow whilst their bodies were merely speckled with flakes and still quite visible, it was almost as if it were deliberate.

"Supplies," Farengar said sternly as he led the way to the left where a small shop stood, its wooden sign creaking in the low, cold breeze. He opened the door and hurried in, closely followed by Hrongar. Amaris paused catching the cheery glimpse of a man to her left. She looked to him curiously, he was clad in fur like everyone else though his garments looked to be of a finer quality, his face was hidden in the shade of a helmet out of which two very lifelike horns had been carved. The redhead frowned when she noticed the large, shaggy, black dog that was sitting by his side and looked to his face again with fresh suspicion. He looked familiar, there was something about his pale eyes and amused smirk, and she found herself taking a step towards him.

"Amaris?" Orthorn looked at her curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Amaris turned, startled, to look at the Altmer and shook her head quickly. "No, it's fine," she murmured as she looked back to the stranger. "Just give me a minute, I think I know him." She stepped away from the elf without waiting for his reply and approached the man whose smile immediately widened.

"You're plainer," he greeted her mockingly, "but I suppose that's what happens when the blood of Lorkhan leaves you."

Amaris immediately tensed at his words and her eyes widened as she took in his youthful appearance. He was handsome and almost human looking but there was something off about him, his ears were slightly pointed but he was no Bosmer, Dunmer or Altmer, his eyes were unnatural for all the species of Tamriel and he had an odd aura of danger and power. "Clavicus Vile," she realised his identity with a gasp.

He gave a merry laugh before nodding gleefully. "The same except not, I've donned a rather dull guise so your mage friend doesn't alarm himself. You have come a long way, I didn't think the infamous Amaris Frey would ever associate with an Altmer. They all have Thalmor connections you know," he added wickedly, "whether it's a cousin or a friend or a friend of a friend there's a link there, believe me."

"What do you want?" Amaris asked coldly, quashing down the unease she felt about Orthorn. Truthfully it had always been there since their first meeting, a quiet suspicion that he might indeed have Thalmor connections, that all Altmer did but then she had forced herself to remember her own Altmer heritage.

"Straight to the point," he commented brightly, "always good when it comes to making a deal."

"A deal?" she echoed curiously.

He nodded happily and gestured behind him to the looming mountains. "You want to cross over to Skyrim," he commented, "which isn't hard to guess at, where else would you flee to? Naturally that means Molag Bal and others are going to have those mountains full of traps, Daedra and worse, all lying in wait for you and if Molag gets you it will be worse than when the Thalmor had you, believe me sweet red."

"Why are you telling me this?" she demanded as she wondered at the truth of his words.

"Because I can offer you and your companions safe passage, for a price of course."

"Obviously," she murmured dryly. She recalled with displeasure the price Clavicus had made her, Cynric, Mercer and Marcurio once pay in exchange for several wishes, including the return of her memory which he had been responsible for wiping out thanks to a deliberately misinterpreted deal with her brother Hadvar. "So what price do you want?" she queried.

His grin widened as his pale eyes filled with malice. "Well my favourite price is souls but I know I would have to trade you much more for yours and certainly there's a trade in mind for that down the line. So I'll accept something cheaper, a relic of mine, once thought lost has conveniently turned up in the Jerall Mountains. See this really is quite an easy price to pay for safe passage, it's en route after all."

Amaris sighed. "Why can't you get it then?" she queried coolly.

He gave a short chortle. "Oh I'd love to but it would take me out of my way whilst it's on yours that and also happens to be in a shrine to Reymon Ebonarm who would create a terrible fuss if I intruded."

"Reymon...who?" Amaris echoed with a look of puzzlement. It was an unfamiliar name, neither Aedra nor Daedra.

"A war god," Clavicus answered plainly with a slight frown, "temperamental and popular with the Fighters Guild of old and the Redguards, ancient deity who time sadly has not changed. His shrine is forgotten so it should be safe enough, rather out of place, quite far from the Alik'r Desert, built by homesick Redguards hoping to spread his worship, they met a rather unpleasant end when they reached the other side of the mountains and the Nords were rather unwilling to change their religion. Old story, very boring," he paused to give a yawn and then added quickly, "anyway, you and your friends grab Bittercup from the shrine on your way to Skyrim and I assure you, you will all make it into Skyrim alive."

Amaris frowned at him and narrowed her grey eyes, knowing somehow that there was a trick, he was a Daedric Prince of trickery after all and the last time she and her companions had bargained with him, Marcurio's dog Meeko had been killed and Amaris had almost been driven mad. 'Well if the shrine to Reymon Ebonarm is dangerous, which it mostly certainly is,' she thought sardonically, 'it would mean breaking his word if we didn't all survive it to reach Skyrim. So what's the catch here?'

"Come now, you're guaranteed to make it over the border, all of you, the Nords and the Altmer, which you won't without my help, I assure you Molag will wear you down with Daedra without breaking a sweat and then there are the others to consider, Mephala, Vaermina, I believe you met Namira's hungry followers."

Amaris glanced at him suspiciously at his final words and her frown deepened at his smirk. "Alright," she gave in, "we'll find this Bittercup for you if you make sure all of us make into Skyrim alive, and well," she added firmly, "I don't want anyone losing a limb or something."

"Very well," Clavicus grumbled as his smirk faded away.

Amaris hid back a small smile as she realised she had caught him on his trick. "Then it's a deal."

"Yes," he murmured, "travel when you will." With those parting words he and his dog vanished from sight.

Orthorn's green eyes widened in alarm as the man and dog vanished and he hastened to Amaris' side. "Was he a mage?" he demanded.

Amaris looked up at the Altmer and shook her head. "Not quite," she murmured as she wondered if Orthorn did know any Altmer. 'Would he lead me into a trap?' she pondered. 'It seems very unlikely, he did nothing when Mercer searched for me, killing Thalmor as he did, and our meeting here in Cyrodiil was a coincidence. No, it's unfair to be suspicious of him, he was kind to me in Skyrim and he's been kind to me here.'

"You're giving me that look," Orthorn murmured softly.

Amaris' grey eyes filled with surprise. "What look?" she queried in puzzlement.

"A look I often get," he admitted calmly, "a look of suspicion and revulsion. I got it in Winterhold from college members because I was a thief and then I got in Skyrim because I was wizard but also from some because I was an Altmer, and they wondered, like you must if I truly had nothing to do with the Thalmor."

"I...I'm sorry," Amaris retorted sincerely, "I don't...I mean you helped me."

"It's alright," the high elf waved off her apology, "I understand, especially from you. Truthfully, there is one in my family, we're estranged, I haven't spoken with him in years and I have no desire to and certainly I would never, ever betray you to him."

Amaris shuddered at his confession despite how sincere he sounded. "You're...related to Thalmor," she mumbled weakly.

Orthorn nodded with a sad expression. "Family ties are everything to the Altmer, we try to keep nobility and purity in the blood, and being a Thalmor is still viewed as a grand thing by a lot of my kind. Not me though, never me, I swear. Please, I know it's hard to believe, especially coming from a former thief but I'm not like them Amaris. I'm just a mage who did a foolish thing and misses his home with the college," he admitted wistfully. "Now I'm trying to forge a new life apprenticing under Farengar in Whiterun but that's it, there's no ulterior motive. Finding you was a coincidence, I'm glad of it mind since you were in danger, but there was no intention there and staying with you and returning with you to Skyrim was because you persuaded Farengar not I."

Amaris nodded slowly as she realised this was all true. "You're right," she admitted, "and I am sorry, it's not fair of me to judge you simply for me Altmer." She gave him a bitter smile and added, "after all I'm half-Altmer too."

The mage's lime eyes filled with shock at this revelation and he went to query it when she did not elaborate but was stopped by the return of Farengar and Hrongar.

"Right, we've got supplies," Hrongar grumbled, "now let's get better clothes and start hiking."


End file.
